


That time they met on vacation when Hamish was an undergrad

by BeaRyan



Series: Vera Memoria [3]
Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: "Vera Memoria" means "true memory" in Italian, aka Latin but make it sexy. Since canon didn't name the potion Lilith made to restore and fix their lost memories I did. Written as a series so I can give a different rating to each part.Vera has powdered Hamish a lot.  Like, a lot a lot.  This is one of the memories that came back when he took the memory restoring potion.  Smut, but somewhat fluffy and with some guesses at who they were years ago.
Relationships: Hamish Duke/Vera Stone
Series: Vera Memoria [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938112
Comments: 23
Kudos: 45





	That time they met on vacation when Hamish was an undergrad

Hamish gestured with the bland, watery beer he couldn't stand to drink. "Her. I pick her." 

Like synchronized robots his old boarding school friends turned to the look at the woman he'd dubbed BB. Bondage Bathing suit. The black straps accented what she wanted noticed and practically dared him to figure out how to get her out of it. Her dark hair was tightly braided into a crown around her head, and her brick red lipstick didn't suit her. The entire look screamed "don't fuck with me" and he'd just declared his desire to do just that. Maybe now the guys would ignore him and he could slip away and get a decent drink. 

Kennedy chuckled quietly while Dixon and Mac didn't bother to hide their laughter. Walton, the son of a Texas oil baron who'd spent more on racehorses than most people would earn in a lifetime, pushed his cowboy hat further back on his head. "Saddle up, Duke." 

Oh shit. With enough time and without his friends in tow he might have eventually turned a poolside drink with BB into more, but with Walton driving this charge it was over before it started. 

At least it would be amusing.

Walton crossed the pool deck with Hamish trailing just behind and positioned himself so his shadow landed on BB's legs. "Ma'am?"

She looked up. "Cowboy?" 

Smug, Walton drawled, "You like cowboys?" 

"No, but I would like it if you'd get out of my sun." 

Walton muttered, "Duke wanted to meet you," before beating a hasty retreat. 

Hamish moved to BB's other side and out of her sun. 

"Did you need something?" she asked. 

"A favor?" 

"And what would that be?"

"Let me stay here long enough to buy you a drink. It'll lift the spirits of a dying man."

Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but she moved her head enough to let him know she was looking him up and down. With a sigh she said, "I suppose," then held up her nearly empty glass and gave it a wiggle. 

While they waited for the waiter to make his way over Hamish perched on the edge of the chair beside her. "To clarify what I said before, I'm not the one dying." 

"I assumed as much."

Hamish shrugged. "Convicted even as I committed the crime." 

"No," she said with a sigh. "Four members of your five man band have recently shaved heads. I assume man number five is starting chemotherapy soon." 

Mac's diagnosis was the reason for the trip. Last night's solidarity shave had been a drunken impulse decision. This morning the barber had evened out the wreckage, but it was still the shortest his hair had ever been. He ran a hand self-consciously over the stubble on his head. "How can you tell it's recent?" 

"Your scalps are lighter than your faces. Hope you're using sunscreen." 

She thought he was an idiot, and he found that weirdly arousing. He was tall, well-spoken, well-educated, fit and rich. Working for it, for anything, was a rare experience and he savored it like an unfamiliar whiskey. 

A waiter in a too bright polo shirt and crisp shorts silently approached and waited, smiling, until they acknowledged him. 

"Another vodka soda please. He's buying." Her manicured nails gestured his way and Hamish imagined them running down his chest. 

"Bill it to room 213." He had promised to buy her a drink. If that's all it was to be it was time to tend to his own needs. "How's the bartender with mixed, not blended, drinks?" 

"He's good." 

For the price of this resort he should be, but he'd rather ask than be disappointed. "Tell him I want something with rye. Not sweet. Spirit forward." 

She waited until the waiter left before asking smugly, "Hangover?"

There was no herding a cat, but you could get one’s attention. Dryly he said, "Boredom. Might as well get drunk." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

He sighed and stretched out on the lounge chair beside her. "You and me? This isn't happening, right? The braided hair reminded me of my nanny and the lipstick is very Martha's Vineyard MILF, so I was into it in a very specific way I should probably address with a therapist, but you’ve made it plain you have better things to do than me, so on to the liquor." 

"Your nanny?" She didn't even sound offended, just stunned. 

"I had a Swiss nanny. It's pretty common. They speak French, German, and English, so you get a multilingual early language experience along with snacks and playdate supervision." 

"And she braided her hair like this?" 

"The alpine crown." He truly was fond of the look. Gerta had been a little severe, but she'd always been in his corner. He'd basically been raised by a doberman who read stories. No wonder he was so drawn to Ms. Bondage Bathing suit. 

She took her drink from the waiter and discretely used the damp napkin underneath it to wipe at her lipstick. 

Hamish took a sip of his drink and forced a smile for the waiter’s benefit. "Excellent," he said by way of dismissal. When he and BB were alone again he asked hesitantly, "Have I ruined your day? That really wasn't my intention. Being rejected stung a bit, but cruel isn't my natural state." 

"If I thought it was you'd be doubled over in pain. You were honest; it just wasn't what I wanted to hear." Her hands sought the pins in her hair, pulling loose strands as she grew increasingly frustrated. Finally she gave up and folded her fingers in her lap with only two pins to show for the dozens of stray hairs she'd created. "I got a promotion. I was testing out a new look. It seems I missed vaguely terrifying and landed on maternal." Her hands drifted back to her hair, pulling at pins again. 

Whoever she was, unlike him, she wanted to belong here, lounging by the pool of an overpriced and exclusive club property surrounded by captains of industry and titans of inherited wealth. Wanting something to be true was different from feeling that it was. 

Hamish touched her elbow and guided them both to standing then leaned down to whisper, "Country club rules. Never let your control slip in front of witnesses." He pulled back and looked in her eyes. There was a connection there, strange and tenuous, but he'd do what he could to strengthen it, to strengthen her. "I know exactly the look you want. I can help. Let's go back to your room and --" 

She balked and he added, "Please. I've been rude and I'd like to make it up to you if I can." 

Her bottom lip jutted out and he knew how he wanted to kiss her, softly with just a hint of teeth. 

"You don't deserve to see my room." 

"Show it to me anyway and make me earn the right to stay." 

Her eyes ran over him again, and he felt her assessment like a touch. 

"Come along then." The black fabric of her wrap fluttered around her as she covered the curves he longed to touch. 

His shirt, phone and room key were on the other side of the pool with his friends, but he could retrieve them all later. If he let this moment, this woman, go he'd regret it forever. 

He trailed just behind her, letting her set the pace, and by the time they reached her room she was standing taller and her stride was paced by confidence instead of eagerness to hide in her room. 

She slid the key into the latch and let out a barely held breath when the light turned green. Just beyond the threshold a large suite with a view of the ocean and, importantly, a king size bed beckoned, but she blocked the way. Despite their height difference she leveled him with her gaze. "What's my name?" 

Shit. 

"Mistress? As in 'Yes, Mistress' and 'No, Mistress'." 

She laughed softly, but she held the door open and allowed him to enter then pointed him through another door immediately to the left. The mirror over the sink took up an entire wall, reflecting a large glassed shower area, a sunken tub, and a door to the water closet. The resort had paid for professional lighting design, but the pink of his scalp through the stubble of his remaining hair still looked ridiculous next to his midsummer tan. 

Her hand slid along his waist as she moved past him then hopped slightly to perch on the edge of the vanity. “So how do I look less Mommy and more Mistress?”

She wasn’t as jaded as she wanted to seem and it was endearing. He had better sense than to tell her she was cute. Kittens have claws and teeth, and she’d be a panther when she grew into her goal image. 

His fingers tugged the pins out of her braided crown. “Mistress is a complicated word. It can be a woman in power or it can be a woman at the mercy of a man’s… benevolence. For the sake of clarity, may I have your name?” 

“Vera.” 

“Nice to meet you, Vera.” With her hair finally free of the pins, he ran his fingers through it, enjoying the way it caressed his skin. “What’s the new job?” 

She bit her lip as if the question was unexpected. Odd since she’d admitted to celebrating a new job. 

“Temple manager and director of young adult programming. One of only four in the country. It’s an honor.” 

Translated he figured she meant she was a youth pastor for wherever the nouveau 1% were secretly congregating these days. It made sense. She was young enough to talk to the kids about resisting temptation but old enough to be trusted with building keys and a budget. 

“I’d suggest a look that begs to be touched. Long hair worn down. Form fitting clothes. Fabrics that reveal any transgression.” 

“Are you suggesting I wear all white all the time?” 

“No. Silks. Satin. Make them ache to reach out to you and afraid to do it.” 

“Untouchable perfection. Michelangelo’s David with a lesson book.” Her laugh was rich and warm. “You really did have a Swiss nanny.”

“I really did.” 

“There’s a pair of black shoes in my closet. High heels. Peep toes. Get them for me.”

Hamish’s pulse quickened. She was playing with him now, using him to experiment with aching as a method of control. And she was a natural at it. Fuck. “As you wish.” 

The shoes were easy to find in her well organized closet. Less easy to find was his self control. In nothing but a bathing suit with only one drink in his system he was missing his two favorite tools in the aloof WASP tool kit. Would it be so bad to just lose control? To be more like all the other undergrads and just give in to his animal side? Did he even have an animal side? 

She was adjusting the water in the shower when he walked back into the bathroom, and yes, he definitely did have base instincts and primal drives. She caught his eye then stepped under the water, soaking her hair and sending rivulets flowing over her pale skin. She beckoned to him to join her, and he dropped the shoes and moved to her before the second wave of her hand. 

Warm water, hot kisses, the cool tile against his back as she pressed him into it. 

It was an impractical position. 

Clothes were impractical too. 

Clearly she agreed. First his suit then hers were dropped to the ground then shoved aside as she pushed on his shoulder and guided him to his knees. 

She was in control but he wasn’t powerless. He could make her moan. God, she sounded good when she moaned. That was a sound to build a day around, a week, a life. 

The hell? Something about her was under his skin. This was why he didn’t do drugs. If a little made you feel good then he wanted a lot, and just a taste of her was already amazing. 

She grabbed him gently by the ear and pulled him to standing. He had to look down to look in her eyes, but she was still the one in control. All he was expected to do was please her and she’d give him all the instruction he needed to succeed. 

They’d been right to promote her. She was going to be a great teacher. 

She pressed a hand to his chest, encouraging him to move backwards but not shoving so hard he’d lose his balance. “Bed. Now.” 

Clarity. 

Perfection. 

She was just as explicit about her desires when his body was pressed between hers and the mattress, just as clear about how he should move his hips or touch her breasts and when to change positions. His reward for obedience was aural. Visual. Sensual. Her flushed skin. Her moans. Her arched back, parted lips, nails biting into his skin. 

That sound she made as she came. 

Making her make it again. 

***

There was no awkwardness as he trekked to the bathroom to collect his suit. No fumbling for words as he asked when he could see her again. Just a kiss, soft, sweet, and a little sad, then she caressed his face and turned to get something from her bag. 

A puff of dust.

Her voice telling him that he’d struck out with the woman he met by the pool then he’d gone to the bar for a drink. 

Why was he standing in this hallway? Must have overindulged. Last thing he remembered he’d struck out with the woman in the black, strappy bathing suit then gone to the bar to get a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated at any point in time. If you don't know what to say a keyboard smash, a link to your favorite gif, or "extra kudos" are perfectly valid responses.


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